by Lan LLP
“I assume your permanent residence is in Boston?” I look at him for confirmation. “No promises, but I’ll see Dean Filmore if it’ll make you happy.” It wasn’t coincidental that he introduced me to him earlier this evening, such a devious man. “I’m still struggling with the fact that you own Bradley International Pharmaceutical Corporation. Your sky’s-the-limit wealth will be an issue for me. Take me seriously when I ask you not to spend lavishly on me.” I try my best to give him an uncompromising look.
“Yes ma’am! I’ve heard you loud and clear, many times.” He turns his body to face me and pulls me into his embrace. “You can be so incorrigible, Angel.”
“Carson, can I ask you another question? It’s kind of personal.”
“Sure, I have nothing to hide from you, Angel.”
“How did you get that scar on your left hip?” I run my finger along the length of it.
“My parents told me it’s from birth, and I’ve never questioned it. Why do you ask?”
“It looks like a clean, surgical excision to me.”
“Interesting, I’ll have to pry my parents for more information now.”
“If this is the only imperfect thing about you, I think I can handle it.” I give a playful smile and then chuckle.
“I’m glad to know that you love me beyond skin deep.” He returns my smile with his. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us. Goodnight, Lily.”
Chapter 15
Lillian Ly
Our trip to Boston is expedited by flying on Carson’s private jet. He refused to waste our brief time together, waiting for commercial flights or going through agonizing security checks. I agreed to appease him, not that I had a choice in the matter. My time with mellow Carson will be more enjoyable than with uptight Carson.
Striding away from the jet, my eyes zoom in on an intimidating man, leaning against a black limo on the tarmac. Could this be Owen? It has to be. I’m anxious to meet him in person since I only know him by his husky, masculine voice. He’s younger and more strapping than I pictured him to be, maybe mid-forties. The first thing that comes to my mind when I see him is Dwayne Johnson, the WWF wrestler. It’s so uncanny how much he looks like him, from his handsome, dark features to his shaven head. Emma’s bratty, little brother used to run into her room and impersonate the Rock just to irritate the heck out of us, so I’m very familiar with Dwayne. Owen has two intriguing faint scars, one above his left eyebrow and the other on his neck along the carotid artery that strikes my curiosity. I bet there’s an exciting story or two behind them. Perhaps I can ask him about them one day when we’re better acquainted and on a first name basis. He seems like an interesting character.
“Miss Ly, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome back, Mr. Bradley,” Owen greets and nods his head at us.
“Thank you, Mr. Maxwell. I’m happy that I can now attach a face to your famous voice.” I cordially reply with a silly smile and extend my hand out for a shake. He gives me a firm squeeze and the Rock’s infamous crooked smile, well…not quite. It’s more like a tilt of his lips. It still makes me laugh to myself, imagining it.
“Mr. Maxwell, has anyone ever mistaken you for the Rock, the wrestler?” I ask him frankly like any star-struck person would.
His expression barely changes with a subtle grin. “No. Miss Ly, you’re the only person to ever tell me this.” His expression is deadpan, making me feel dumb for asking.
“Lil, he likes to be called Owen, so don’t bother with formalities,” Carson bluntly cuts us off. He doesn’t handle my interaction with other men well. This is an obstacle he’ll have to overcome because I won’t tolerate it. Why can’t he just trust me and understand that he’s the only man for me? Owen resumes his reserved expression. I feel uncomfortable and guilty almost instantly. It appears that he was non-verbally reprimanded for having a conversation with me, if you can even call it that. I’m noticing that Carson’s demeanor is more reserved and curt with everyone other than me. I can still remember how intimidated I felt the first time I witnessed this aloof side of him. He’s not a person to be trifled with especially when he’s in his executive mode. It’s amazing how some people can command that kind of response from just a look. I’m just ecstatic to be on the recipient end of his more tender side.
Our bags are stowed in the limo by the driver. Owen sits in the front. I climb in first and Carson follows behind me. As soon as the driver closes the door, he pulls me against him and depresses a silver button to raise the privacy, glass screen. His mood lightens up, but his expression remains rigid.
“I don’t normally invite women to my home,” Carson declares in a stern tone.
“I’m honored, then,” I buoyantly reply with a teasing expression.
He locks our curled fingers together and emphasizes, “I’m being serious. It wasn’t just an accident that brought us together. Someone up there planned it.” The firmness of his tone tells me I better pay attention to what he’s conveying to me.
“Someone? Do you not believe in God, Carson?” I curiously ask him. This is another topic we haven’t touched on either.
“I do, but He hasn’t been fair to me.” His index finger glides along my cheek and then down to my heart. “But…I think we’re okay now. What about you? Do you believe in God?” He looks up to my doting, brown eyes.
“Yes, but in a confusing way. I call it Buddhistian. It’s a blended religion with principles I value from both God and Buddha.”
“Buddhistian…I like it. This is why you’re so unique to me.” He smiles, caresses my face between his hands and presses his warm lips against mine, tasting me like his fine wine or liquor. My body falls back on the leather seat with his forcefulness. He’s warming up his appetite as he inhales and nips all along my neck and down between the dell of my swollen breasts. “Why can’t I seem to get enough of you?” he groans under his breath. As much as he wants to have his way with me, he curbs his appetite and pulls me into his arms. “I need a quick fix for now and save the rest for tonight.” The look in his eyes promises an endless, heated night. The anticipation is killing me as I lean against his beating chest, steadying my breathing.
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Boston is a beautiful city rich with American history. Most of the buildings are solidly constructed of brick and designed with detail and character. I’ve never seen so many streets end up in circular paths to connect to another street. It’s like driving through a labyrinth to get to his place. On our flight here, Carson forewarned me that his penthouse has over 8,000 square feet of living space. He lives at the Zen, a more modern development in downtown Boston. Why one person would ever need this much room is beyond my comprehension, but then again, I’m just a humble girl from a Midwest suburb. What do I know about big city living?
The limo driver pulls up to the front of a high-rise building. The unwelcoming cold breeze bites into me when I step out. My shoulders shiver first and then the tremor sashays all the way down to my toes. I immediately think of Amelia doing the body roll to David Guetta’s ‘Who’s That Chick’ and chuckle to myself. Carson notices my shivering and rushes us to the front doors. An older gentleman, with Albert engraved on his nametag, greets us at the entrance while holding the door open.
“Mr. Bradley, welcome back, Miss,” he greets while politely tapping the rim of his top hat and nods.
“Hello, Albert,” Carson briefly replies as I gesture ‘hi’ with my hand and smile on the fly. I take it that Carson isn’t much of a conversationalist. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and directs me through the lobby, towards a set of elevators. Not again, I have to take the elevator to the top floor. I should be a pro at this by now, but it doesn’t get any easier for me. I wonder why no one ever wants to live on the lower floors. It would be prime real estate for me.
This place is even more extraordinary compared to the one in Chicago. It feels like I’m in the center of an enormous glass globe. Large windows surround us, enhancing the unbelievable views
of the city. Holy freak, he has an enormous pool just outside the confines of these glass doors.
“How often do you swim in that pool?” I inquire while pointing at it.
“Not as often as I’d like to.” Just as I thought—a rarely used space. “My schedule keeps me busy. I never made any time for myself until I met you.”
“Am I a good or bad influence?” I smirk.
“Good in every way, of course.” He cocks his head in my direction and offers me his dimpled smile. “Lil, would you like something to drink? Please make yourself at home.”
“I’m afraid I’d get lost if I wander off by myself.”
He gives me a wry grin with his eyebrows knitted tightly. “Don’t worry baby, I’d find you.”
In contrast to the Chicago condo, the surrounding furnishings are dark and more masculine. Even though it’s double the size, it feels much cozier and more like Carson. Everything is brand new and barely touched. I doubt that he’s ever home long enough to settle down and enjoy this massive place. I’m handed a cold water bottle. He intertwines our fingers together and gives me a grand tour of his fabulous place. It’s like experiencing a ‘MTV Cribs’ episode in real life: wine room, workout center, gourmet kitchens, entertainment rooms and several unused bedrooms. I can’t believe this is all his. I would’ve been lost had I decided to venture off on my own.
We stop at his home office to make a quick call to Dean Filmore. This room also has an exquisite panoramic view of downtown Boston. I can only imagine how amazing it is in the evening with all the brilliant, colored lights reflecting in the background. I curiously look around his professionally decorated office. His mahogany executive desk probably costs more than what an average person earns in a year. I see that he’s a book collector, medical ones in particular. Now this impresses me. As I look beyond the wall of books, my eyes settle on two, large, professionally matted framed photographs of lotus flowers. They’re perfectly enhanced and credit is even rendered to me at the bottom left corners. ‘Photographer: Lillian M. Ly’ It’s gratifying to see them proudly hanging in Carson’s personal space because they represent me.
As he confirms our appointment with his back to me, I notice Carson is engrossed with an object in his hand. I look over his shoulders and see a small dark frame with a picture of us together on the row boat. His stunning dimpled smile outshines the completely surprised look on my face. It’s not fair that he always looks perfectly handsome with little effort.
“Thanks again Jack!” he ends the call and swivels his black leather chair around to face me, carefully setting our framed picture back on his desk.
“Do you like my art pieces?” he inquires proudly as he leans casually back into his leather chair.
“I love what you’ve done with them,” I excitedly reply.
“They’re priceless to me and so is the talented photographer who took them,” he grins, staring directly into my eyes.
“She’s one lucky girl to be so cherished by you.” I smile right back at him. Is it possible for two people to fall this deeply for one another in such a short amount of time? I want to believe it is for us. He wills me to come to him with his index finger. I prance over and cozily settle on his lap with his arms cradling me tenderly. My body falls into his chest, appreciating the security of his embrace. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d end up meeting someone like him. He makes me believe that love at first sight is real. I rest my head against the curve of his neck and softly whisper, “Will you please ask your photographer friend for a copy of our picture? I have a special place in mind for it.” My lips gently press against his neck and nip his tender skin. He groans and my flesh is hot for him.
“Yes, of course,” he gasps from my taunting. “We have two hours till we meet with Dean Filmore. I want your naked body spread all over my bed.” The smile on his face is most wicked.
I launch off his lap and make a mad dash for the door. “Only if you can catch me…,” I yell out. He chases me down a long hallway as I’m giggling and laughing until we end up in his bedroom. I make such a sudden halt that Carson almost runs me over as he collides into my back.
“Shit, why did you stop? Did I hurt you?” he panics and then darts his eyes over to a large wrapped package, lying centered on his king size bed. He warily approaches it.
“What is it?” I curiously ask him, but he doesn’t respond. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want me to see what’s underneath the wrapping.
Carson irately picks it up and turns to walk away. “Lil, let me get rid of this. It’ll only upset you.” He gives me an imploring look.
“I don’t care. I still want to know what it is,” I reply louder and harsher than I intend to. He reluctantly drops it down on the bed and steps aside to reveal an elegant card with Bianca’s name on it.
To my Love and our future together. Love always, Bibi.
The nickname pisses me off instantly. I angrily rip the wrapping away and see a professional portrait of Bianca and Carson in each other’s arms. Carson’s face looks indifferent in this picture in contrast to ours on the row boat, but it still hits me like a painful blow to my gut. This picture is proof that their relationship exists or existed. Vivid images of them screwing each other reappear out of nowhere, tormenting me as I glare at their perfect engagement picture, I assume.
“Have you ever slept with her in this bed?” I interrogate him through jealous clenched jaws.
“Lil, don’t be upset with me. I honestly don’t know how this picture ended up on my bed,” he pleads.
“You haven’t answered my question. Have you ever slept with her in this bed?” I heatedly repeat my interrogation.
“No! This is my place. No one has ever spent the night here.” His dark, narrowed eyes are drowning in frustration.
Thank God! The thought of them screwing each other already makes me sick let alone sleeping in the same bed that they did. Carson tosses the picture onto the floor like garbage and offers me his consoling arms. I hesitate before accepting them. Her nasty threat from last night still haunts me, leaving a bitter taste in my mind. He’ll be begging me to take him back into my bed. If anyone knows him well, it would be her. She’s been with him the longest and was the only one to convince him to marry her. I sadly push this horrible thought aside and wrap myself around Carson, craving his closeness.
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For some unexplainable reason, I’ve been more tired than usual. It must be due to all the traveling and late night activities with Carson. Finding Bianca’s picture on his bed killed my mood, so I ended up falling asleep in his arms instead. He struggles to wake me up from my near-dead sleep. I reluctantly open my eyes only to see him handsomely dressed in a fine-fitted, dark, gray business suit. Damn, he looks hot and powerful in it. He hands me my own tailored suit and urges me to get dressed quickly. I’m in such a frantic state that I don’t question the origin of the suit. I put my black frame glasses on since I have no time to hassle with my contact lenses and quickly pull my hair up in a loose bun. He hands me a pair of black pumps, and we’re out the door. I jump into the limo, and off we go with my heart still racing from rushing frenziedly. We make it there right on the dot, thanks to Carson, a man who thrives on punctuality.
The elaborate architecture of the Harvard Medical School building is reminiscent of the Roman Pantheon with its large massive stone pillars aligned in the front. The campus is nicely laid out and beautifully kept. Dean Filmore informs me that the enrollment for this year is around 165 students out of approximately 6,600 student applicants. Wow, it’s even more competitive than I expected. I was encouraged to explore the classrooms and speak with current medical students while Dean Filmore and Carson meet in private. I’m not sure what they’re talking about, but they look suspicious to me.
Overall, I’m truly impressed with their top notch curriculums and professors. Just to think that Carson has the power to pull a couple of strings, and I could attend here at will. Of course, I’d never allow h
im to do anything like that. The only way I’d consider it is if I’d be forced to go through the same academic merit evaluation like everyone else. But what am I saying? I’m not changing schools, not even for Carson. It hurts me to say that, but I’ve worked way too hard to give up my dreams. He won’t be happy with me when I tell him this was a wasted trip.
After our Harvard visit, Carson’s driver dropped us off at his company for my personal tour. Carson expressed his concerns for my unwillingness to accept his wealth. He felt it was necessary to explain the history behind his success to me, hoping to ease my presumptions of him.
Carson wasn’t born rich with a silver spoon in his mouth like I had assumed. His wealth wasn’t handed to him; he earned it himself. He dedicated years of his life to researching and working in laboratories as an assistant to a biochemical professor, Vincent Steward. Carson was a young, brilliant student who caught his attention, so he took him under his wing and treated Carson like a son. Together, they formulated a vaccination for early stage cancers. Ironically, Professor Steward died of advanced stage pancreatic cancer before he was able to reap the rewards of their success. As a result of his death, Carson immersed himself further into research while he concurrently built his pharmaceutical empire.
“Finding a cure for cancer is a personal goal for me. It unfairly stole Emily from me fifteen years ago, yesterday. She was my high school love.” He turns to face me and places my hands into his. His expression is painful. “Two weeks ago when you asked me if I loved anyone and I told you, ‘No’, I didn’t lie to you. I’ve purposely blocked the pain of loving and losing her out of my life. No one has been able to fill that void she left me until I met you, Lily. I haven’t felt this way in years.” He stops to evaluate my reaction. I’m stunned and speechless. I’m on Carson-overload. I went from knowing nothing about him to knowing everything, all in two days. “I’ve never shared her with anyone outside my family until now. So when you asked me to let you go last night, I went crazy. I just couldn’t bear to lose you. I can’t go through that kind of heartache again.”
